


On The Frontlines

by Arliene



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Angst, Body Horror, Drugs, M/M, Nature Magic, Obsession, Suicidal Thoughts, Survival Horror, World War II, World War III
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arliene/pseuds/Arliene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: In a dystopian society, Lord Voldemort rules the European continent with an iron fist. Immortality allowed him to live past the Third and Fourth World Wars, which established magical beings as the rulers of the planet. Yet, the world is collapsing, nature is destroying itself and resources are running out quickly. But there is a faint rumor of a young wizard named Harry Potter who seems to be so in tune with nature and magic itself, he might be the key to save the Earth. HP/LV Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On The Frontlines

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The following stories are based on situations and characters from the Harry Potter books which are created and owned by J. K. Rowling, and various other publishers, including, but not limited to Warner Bros., Inc., Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, and Raincoat Books. No use other than entertainment is intended and no financial gain is being made. No trademark or copyright infringement is intended.
> 
>  **A/N:** Voldemort and Harry will be equals and there will be various references to wars, mental health issues and more. Not beta-ed.
> 
> Warnings for this Chapter: Suicidal Ideation, Diseases, Drug Abuse. Weird things happening.

**Chapter 1: Unpleasant Encounter**

"Harry, have you done your assignments yet?" Molly Weasley called from the kitchen. Her voice startled him slightly. The boy in question hoisted himself upwards, halfheartedly cleaning the dirt from his robes. A Begonia petal stubbornly clung to his trousers, but he chuckled only, brushing it off. He would be back later anyway.

The bushes fluttered around him, noticing his abrupt departure, but he made his way back to the house quickly without looking back.

"Will do, Molly. Sorry for the delay," he responded, closing the ancient, wooden door behind him. He shuffled to the main room where most of the Weasleys were congregated.

The mood was tense, to say the least, and most of them didn't know how to pass the time until their father returned.

It was another reason why Harry had escaped to the backyard earlier. He didn't quite know how to talk to his pseudo-family without making it awkward.

Upon entering the room, Ginny was the first to notice his presence, waving him over. Heads turned and Harry smiled faintly at them.

"You have something on your face." The youngest Weasley member pointed at Harry's cheek, grinning when he tried to wipe the dirt off.

"Mate, you spend too much time with those gnomes. What's up with that?" Ron called, pushing a pawn forward on the old chessboard.

"I fell in love," Harry said dryly, waving his hand to clean himself up wandlessly. Unlike the rest of them, he didn't even possess a wand. Didn't know how to cast spells with one.

The twins burst out laughing, with Fred clapping him on the back so hard that he nearly stumbled forward.

"So the rumors are true then?" George called, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Like what?"

Harry took a seat near the fireplace, trying to relax after the endless hours that he spent digging in the dirt.

"They call you the plant seducer these days," Fred said and his eyes became hooded. He wiggled his finger, imitating the way Harry usually talked to his surroundings up close. Bushes, roses, even trees. His imitation was frighteningly good.

"I'm flattered, really," Harry said, leaning back heavily against the old, brown upholstery. Much of what the Weasleys owned was in poor condition, although their situation was still better than normal. Most people out there were on their own without a roof over their head. Which was quite common these days.

"You should be. No one in this entire village can sweet-talk potatoes the way you do," George mocked, taking a place beside him and ruffling Harry's hair.

"Watch the hair," Harry slapped the boy's hand away, smiling when they continued mocking him for his unique ability. Their jokes worked and he noticed both Bill and Charlie laughing along with the rest of them. For the first time in days.

Their situation wasn't easy and he didn't really have much hope things would get better, but moments like this were precious nonetheless.

"Harry James Potter, you still have a mountain of homework waiting for you," Molly suddenly called, entering the room and Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, a bit annoyed. It was true, though. Recently, he's started to neglect most of the assignments given to him by the Weasley matriarch and her husband. He didn't see the point studying more magic when other, more important problems took a toll on their family.

None of the Weasleys had a formal wizarding education and there were no schools left to attend, since it was way too dangerous to expose children to their current political and economic situation. So really, this homework business was mostly just there to fill their days with meaningless tasks.

"I'll do that in a minute," he replied eventually, resigned to his fate. The twins snickered at his misfortune.

The clock chimed loudly and with a quick look, Harry noticed that Arthur would be back from London in about a minute.

The sound broke the relaxed atmosphere, throwing most of them right back into a state of suspense and worry.

Right on time, Arthur Weasley burst into their room, panting heavily. Most of the red-headed children rushed forward, greeting him quietly. Molly took the man's rumpled coat from him, putting it away, while Arthur dispelled his Bubble-Head charm to breathe more freely again.

People couldn't go to London without further magical protection. If you left the designed areas and safe zones, you could risk dying of toxic air exposure and black rain that occasionally expelled the worst of the nuclear fallouts all over the country.

"We have a problem," Arthur told them finally, and the slight panic in his voice indicated that this time it was even more serious than their usual "problems." No one dared to interrupt him.

The man took a seat near the stained, somewhat broken window, and his hands were trembling slightly.

"Arthur?" Molly stated, hesitating, and that was all it took for him to break down completely.

"Food resources will last a year, at the most." he said in fright and Harry tensed, his lips forming a grim line. Ginny whimpered, holding Ron's hand tightly.

It was really bad.

"People will die of starvation. Malnutrition statistics keep rising from what they told me at the ministry. The healers can't keep up," Arthur explained, waving his arms in agitation.

"Did they find a solution?" Molly asked, walking over to him.

"Of course not," Arthur breathed. "It's all about keeping the public unaware. I don't even know what the Dark Lord intends to tell them in a year, but right now it's all being covered up by his Death Eaters." He grimaced, and the pallor of his skin told Harry that he's been out of the safe zone for far too long.

"Maybe we should leave the country," Bill suggested, looking around for support. There wasn't any.

Harry scoffed, unable to hide his own bitterness and anger at the situation.

"Where to? Germany? Russia? Maybe Japan? Or right, I forgot. Bubonic Plague everywhere," he said in a sharp tone.

"Young man-" Molly shouted, but Harry didn't bother, standing up quickly to leave the room. He didn't want to intrude, didn't want to share this grief with the others. He needed space, time to think.

"Harry, please wait," Arthur called out desperately and something in his tone made him stop. Something that told him there was more to this story.

"There's something else you need to know," he said faintly. Harry's shoulders tensed.

"Why me?" he whispered, but everyone heard him clearly.

"Because it pertains to you," the man explained, making Harry turn toward him slowly.

"They know and they asked for you," he voiced and Harry froze. "I tried keeping your abilities a secret, but someone in this town must've said something incriminating."

"You mean the ministry knows? All of them?" Harry questioned, alarmed.

He didn't want people to know about that. There was only so much he could do after all.

Arthur nodded in return, confirming his worst fears. Ron looked at him helplessly.

Yes, his abilities to speak and synchronize with his surroundings helped with the growth of vegetables and fruit. Yes, he could feed people if he managed to turn dead earth back to something more vital.

He could _not return_ extinct animals back to life, so that humans could actually eat things other than stuff directly harvested from the gardens.

And he absolutely refused to become a guinea pig for the ministry only to test those limits of his. What good would that do?

It was useless. Their time was running out anyway and he didn't think there was a solution to the end.

To be honest, killing himself would be far kinder at this point that waiting for the inevitable blast. Only his loyalty to the Weasleys kept him from reaching that point.

His life in the shadows unfortunately was about to be destroyed completely.

"He requested to see you, Harry," Arthur murmured and Harry heard the gasps quite clearly.

Fuck.

"You mean the Dark Lord..." he began, speaking calmly, yet his mind was screaming, his blood boiling over.

"Yes, tonight. He wants us to introduce you, and if we don't comply, he will come to us," the man explained and there was a sadness in his tone that revealed just how much he regretted that he couldn't protect Harry from the outside world.

Harry briefly entertained the thought to just let the Dark Lord come to him. It would be quite funny to force him to come to their quaint, little village of Godric's Hollow, where his parents lay buried. Murdered by the very same man.

But he knew he couldn't make this harder for the Weasleys just out of petty revenge against a dark wizard.

No, he needed to comply.

"I'll be there," Harry replied, hiding his nerves from the family. Before Arthur could say more, he quickly crossed the threshold, closing the door behind him and leaning back against it. The whispering inside the room grew and he quickly cast a spell to shut them out. Harry closed his eyes and in the darkness he saw nothing but death.

* * *

The orphan stood in front of the old mirror, frowning at the attire he wore. It was shabby, yet it was the best item he owned.

It shouldn't bother him. Of course, it shouldn't. Lord Voldemort's opinion of him didn't count and Harry was actually tempted to dress in Muggle rags to honor their allmighty Lord. The way the bastard deserved.

But he knew his appearance would be evaluated, no matter what.

It was actually quite funny. The small pureblood society of this century was still more concerned with status and money than worldly problems; or issues that actually should be addressed. After all, you couldn't feed your stomach with galleons and fancy clothes.

Harry hoped those people would be the first ones to starve to death.

"Harry, are you ready," Arthur called, knocking on his door.

"Yes, let's get this over with."

Both of them left the Weasley residence in silence and Harry ignored the looks of worry that were thrown his way. Ron's devastated expression and Ginny's hurt one was too much to bear. He convinced himself that he would be back.

At least, he hoped so. Because otherwise there would be no one left to take care of the garden, and no one there to put better food on the table.

Outside, he could feel the cold silently worming its way into his body, a feeling that was almost unnatural in its sharpness. It was dark and the faint shimmering wards that surrounded the old house kept most of the unclean air out of the perimeter. It also helped that Harry had taken care of the gardens, creating a lush environment for the family and for himself. Beyond the wards, he'd have to rely on charms or his own plants which he took with him as protection.

This time, it was a single Calla Lily in his pocket that hummed faintly, its petals turned to him as if seeking comfort in Harry's body warmth.

It's been over three years since the last time he ventured out of the village and he didn't really know how bad it was outside of Godric's Hollow. News reports remained vague, but Arthur reassured him once they were inside the ministry, it wouldn't be so bad.

He placed his hand on the man's arm as soon as they crossed the wards and they apparated away.

Arthur was wrong, of course.

It was bad.

London looked desolate, empty of any life forms except the wizarding lowlife of their society, hidden away in unsafe buildings or living on the street. Most of the homeless criminals didn't survive for more than a year. Even good men and women died lonely and forgotten, their corpses rotting away in the cold, often covered in poisonous substances.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes.

Deep impact craters have obliterated the roads completely and everywhere Harry looked he saw destroyed houses, debris and no greenery. No artificial light existed, the only sign of activity being the Ministry of Magic up ahead.

Harry and Arthur reached a safe zone, but before they could cross it, the older wizard needed authorized access, which meant slitting his palm with magic and letting the bloodied hand touch the shimmering barrier around the only repaired building in miles.

It pulsed faintly and the wizard quickly ushered Harry inside, before it could close again.

"Don't look them in the eyes," Arthur murmured, stepping forward and glancing sideways in nervousness.

"What do you mean," Harry asked, a bit confused. He was trying to keep up with the quickening pace.

"Ministry workers, the lower departments," Arthur replied and Harry did as asked as soon as they entered the Atrium without much trouble. Inside, there were dozens of wizards and witches, most of them dressed in the same, unimpressive grey robes that turned the entire room into a sea of bleakness.

Harry's own shabby, dark red robes stood out like a bright flame in the middle of the night. Keeping his head down, he barely noticed the others, yet most of them walked with robotic precision, carrying out tasks of various kinds, not paying much attention to their colleagues.

"They're on drugs," Arthur whispered, once they managed to find a somewhat secluded spot near a stone pillar. Their meeting point.

"The newest product on the market. Called The Lost Prophecy. It keeps them going, making them happy," the wizard explained, not sounding as if he even believed it. Looking up, Harry watched as a witch walked forward to one of the fireplaces in a delirious state. Her grin was wide, too unnatural and her eyes were glassy. Her skin was peeling of in certain places, especially around her mouth. When she turned around, looking his way, Harry averted his eyes quickly.

"Is it legal?" Harry asked, feeling out of place.

Arthur chuckled darkly. "Officially sanctioned and produced by the ministry. Most workers can't even do without it anymore. I'm lucky I'm not forced to do the same," he said and Harry nodded at that, gripping the man's hand tightly. To offer some kind of comfort.

He felt sick.

They waited then more minutes before something happened. A man approached them, parting the crowd with his mere presence and this time Harry managed to look up, knowing instantly that this man would take him to the Dark Lord. The man made sure not to come in physical contact with any of the lower department officials, the boy noted wryly.

"Lucius," Arthur greeted, his voice like steel.

"Arthur, it's a pleasure to see you again," the man replied coldly, indicating anything but, yet his eyes swept past the man as if he wasn't even there, looking down, before finding Harry's green one's.

A shadow of a smirk crossed the man's expression. He was watching him in genuine interest now.

"You must be young Mr. Potter," he said finally.

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry replied, eyeing the man's extravagant, silver robes that shone so brightly. They revealed a luxury he'd never seen with his own eyes. It was nauseating.

"If you would follow me, please. The meeting will take place on the first floor," he indicated, moving forward. Obediently, Harry stepped closer. Arthur was about to follow them as well, but Lucius held his gloved hand up.

"You will wait here, Weasley."

"But-"

"Those are the rules and I'm not here to waste my time reminding you of them."

Arthur wanted to say something else, but Harry cocked his head to the side, smiling warmly at him. "I will be alright," he said quietly, nodding again. Then he turned around and followed the impatient, blond wizard to his destination, completely missing the devastated expression on Arthur's face as he watched the boy go.

'Alright' was such an ambiguous term.

It felt like hours passed between the time they left Arthur behind and arriving at the Dark Lord's office. Yet the closer he came to meeting the esteemed Leader of this whole mudball of a planet, the more his anxiety kicked in.

He wanted to be back in the gardens. His wish must've been noticed by his companion, though. The white flower in his pocket let out a soothing hum, calming him and he whispered his thanks, ignoring Malfoy's look of bemusement.

They passed wards after wards, ignoring various masked guards and soldiers that were protecting the high security area. They also passed by ornate doors with inscriptions such as 'Magic is Might' and 'For the Greater Good'. And finally they reached the end of a single, narrow corridor decorated by a long, green carpet. The walls were so bright, it hurt to even look at them.

But what disturbed Harry even more was the crisp, extremely clean air that entered his lungs. His body wasn't prepared for the onslaught of sheer filtered air that invaded him. With each step the boy took, he felt the oppressive magic around the area caging him in, dark in nature, but working endlessly to keep this place somewhat bearable compared to the outside world.

Unlike Harry's own magical protection, though, the air was sterile, impersonal and devoid of distinct smell. And so very cold.

"Mr. Potter, I assume you're aware of the rules." Lucius broke the silence, turning to him. Harry stared at the Death Eater impassively, looking for flaws in the man's regular features, ticks that pointed at his behavior or mood.

"Bow low. Never speak unless asked to. Never look His Lordship in the eyes. Don't turn your back on him, right?" Harry recited coldly, feeling disgust settling down in his stomach with every word he said.

Lucius smiled, his expression one of amusement and contempt, his eyes briefly flickering downward to the flower in his pocket that still peeked out, quiet shy.

"You forgot one thing, boy."

"Really?" Harry mocked. A gloved hand reached out to smooth down his unruly, black hair. The touch startled the boy.

"Don't be a brat," Malfoy reminded him, letting go of the plant whisperer.

What the fuck?

* * *

" _Enter_ ", a low voice called out and Harry felt his body stiffening in nervousness. One just didn't meet an immortal, thousand years old being every single day, much less the ruler of the Earth.

He squared his shoulders, imitating a confidence he didn't feel and turned the handle.

Once he entered the room, he instantly felt it. The wizard's magic pressed down upon him, tearing into his body ruthlessly, exposing his own magic, which rose in challenge to meet the overpowering force. He pushed it down forcefully.

Harry didn't bat an eyelash, knowing that it wasn't wise for him to let himself react.

The heat inside the office was unnatural in contrast to the cold outside. It was imitating a tropical climate he'd only ever read about in books. He started to sweat and only the subtle cooling charm he cast upon himself, prevented him from further embarrassment in front of Lord Voldemort.

To his surprise, the room was sparsely decorated, but several ancient looking instruments, and figurines depicting lost cultures and lands hinted at the resourcefulness and opulence of their lord. And his arrogance.

Harry bowed lowly without looking at the man, drawing his arm close to his chest as proper etiquette dictated. Privately, he thought he must look ridiculous playing a pureblood kid but dressed like a pauper.

"My Lord," he whispered, eyeing the carpet.

A minute ticked by, indicated by a mechanical clock that was placed to the left near the charmed windows. Harry licked his lips that were surprisingly dry.

He didn't move, but his ears caught the faint rustling of papers, the way a chair was pushed back and footsteps drew closer.

His poor eyesight didn't allow him to see details out of the corner of his eyes, but he knew the Dark Lord was stepping much closer to him. Then, long fingers reached out and an unnatural cold hand grasped his chin, forcing him to look up. Voldemort stepped even closer than was socially acceptable.

Green eyes locked with crimson and Harry would've recoiled in horror, if he wasn't forced to remain still.

Lord Voldemort was everything he imagined and more. Death personified, to be more precise. His skin was extremely pale and he was bald. His slit nostrils inhaled the humid air around them and pale lips were practically nonexistent. He looked more snake-like than human.

None of that should have surprised him, given the fact that this person was immortal and had lived for over a thousand years. No mere human could achieve such a thing. But it still affected him and his eyes widened while he continued tracing the man's unique features in fascination.

"Am I?" Voldemort asked, watching him just as intently.

"What?" Harry whispered, deliberately allowing himself to be examined by the man instead of withdrawing.

"Your Lord? Am I your Lord?" the man asked, his voice bland.

Harry didn't even hesitate. "Of course. You are the leader of this nation and the world. That makes you my Lord," he said.

Voldemort let go of him but remained close and there was a strange light flickering in his eyes.

"Such lies," the man hissed and Harry's eyes narrowed. His body tensed in preparation of an attack, but something else must've caught the Dark Lord's attention when crimson eyes fixed on something in his robe's pocket. Of course, Harry thought darkly.

"A Calla Lily," the Dark Lord whispered, eyeing Harry's flower curiously. "Not a true lily and yet you seem to have cultivated one successfully," he said, but he didn't reach out to take it from him, which was something that surprised the younger wizard.

"Tell me, child. Are you honoring your mother with this?" And Voldemort's tone was mocking, his thin lips curling in amusement.

"I'm surprised you even remember her name?" Harry said bitterly, turning his head to avoid the crimson stare. Voldemort remained unmoved, though, and he didn't acknowledge Harry's remark. Instead, the man grabbed something from his robes' pocket, withdrawing...

an orange?

Harry stared at the object, but couldn't really make sense of it. The outer shell looked half-rotten and there wasn't much to eat from, but nonetheless, the Dark Lord reached out, grabbed Harry's hand and forced him to take it.

"Show me," he commanded, and with elegant steps the tall man returned to his seat.

Instinctively, Harry knew he'd have to reveal his skills in front of the immortal wizard. He didn't like this part one bit.

"Why should I?" he challenged, still holding onto the fruit that was barely salvageable.

The man's voice cut through the silence without mercy. "You seem to be under the impression that you have a choice in this matter, Mr. Potter. But I'm afraid not," Voldemort replied calmly, staring at him.

Harry shrugged. "I don't see what you could possibly do to me in order to force my hand. Unless you want to kill the Weasleys, of course," he remarked casually, returning the gaze. "I wouldn't put past you," he added, knowing just how much devastation Voldemort could cause without ever having met the man before.

"Indeed. But it's not my intention to force you by using threats, since I can already sense it on you, boy." Voldemort's finger glided over pale skin.

"Sense what?" Harry asked, confused.

The wizard's smile grew sharp.

"Your hopelessness. Your wish to leave this world. You don't think you have anything left living for," the wizard said. And of course he was right, Harry thought. There were rumors that the Dark Lord could read peoples' minds, but Harry didn't think he's projected his feelings quite that openly.

"I can smell it on you. You've grown weary."

"Fine, I get it," the younger wizard hissed, coming closer to the Dark Lord whose eyes were laughing at him, mocking him for what he thought must be a weakness. Harry deposited the rotten orange on the man's desk. His white companion gave off a small warning, but Harry soothed her worries and got to work. If he was supposed to act like a Herbology circus clown for a private show, he'd do it in such a way that it would leave the arrogant bastard stunned.

Harry closed his eyes, aware that Voldemort was following his every move. Calling upon his magic, he began to whisper, his voice gaining a sing-song quality that was gentle and harmonic.

Despite the cooling charm, he could feel cold sweat gathering on his neck, but he continued coaxing the life out of the fruit, contaminated by the outside world. Usually, wizards could take care of their food resources for a limited period of time if their gardens were located inside a safe zone. Everything outside of it however was destroyed and no amount of magic would be able to fix it.

I'm dying. A faint sound, a whispered voice from deep inside called to him, a fragile soul that existed everywhere in nature, but needed encouragement to gain more strength. 'You're not. I'm with you,' Harry said, knowing his words wouldn't be understood by humans.

Who are you? _So warm. So sweet._

Harry smiled. His fingers stroked the uneven outer shell and he continued whispering to her. 'I'm with you. It is not your time yet.'

And with that he called upon a strand of his own magic, forcing it into the object. His hands glowed faintly and then the warmth left him, the connection cut.

Harry opened his eyes slowly.

Right in front of him, a perfect orange was lying innocently on the desk, intact. It worked, as always.

He looked up.

Voldemort was staring at him, his gaze piercing through Harry as if seeking answers. Crimson eyes were dilated.

"That was..." A dark voice, gaining a different quality. "Impressive."

Pale, lifeless hands reached out, but instead of taking the fruit, they touched Harry's own that were still placed on the surface of the man's desk.

Harry grimaced, knowing that the things he could do would always unnerve people. Or excite them, given the situation they were in.

"Tell me, Mr. Potter. Would you like to accompany me on my travels?" Voldemort offered, and there was a hint of promises, of new things to come that Harry couldn't possibly hope to decipher yet.

But the dark wizard's words also got to him and Harry smirked, knowing that this world was doomed anyway, no matter what Voldemort might believe in his misguided attempt to save himself.

Leading the man on for a while could be fun, though.


End file.
